Watching Queer Eye the other night, I had a chilling thought. And I spent some time today trying on clothes, and my sneaking suspicion was confirmed: I need new clothes. Not a lot. I have plenty to sustain me. But a lot of my suits are out of date. (And I thought that pleated pant fronts and double breasted jackets would last forever. Fool that I am.)
I'm totally unsure about where the hell I'm going to buy stuff in Philadelphia. There's not a lot of hip and happening there. Largely it's a JC Penny's kind of town. But in the months to come, I'll have to take my inner Carson Kresley out shopping.
I have a pretty good idea of a look to go for: porn star going to a meeting to renegotiate his contract. Well tailored, form fitting, masculine colors, flare and panache, a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll.
Heh. When Christine Quinn left her job as City Councilmember Tom Duane's chief-of-staff to become the Executive Director of the New York City Gay and Lesbian Anti-Violence Project, at her goodbye party, someone observed that she was the only fashion forward person in Council chambers, and what the hell would we do with out her. This was greeted with a chorus of "damn right" and "yeah! yeah!" (She's back, and always just this side of glamorous, in her role as Speaker of that august body.)
Maybe I can do the same for the public policy arena in Philadelphia.